Losing Her
by Oliver6475
Summary: Molly felt a hand on her arm, and she spun around, about to raise her fist when she saw his blue eyes, his curly hair, and suddenly aged face. "I'm sorry," He murmured, then his lips her on hers, and she entered heaven. Sherlolly. AU. First Sherlock fanfic, please R&R.


Something had changed the day he found that note. No one had read the note other than Sherlock, and that was the day everything changed.

Well, not everything.

Sherlock was still a frustrating genius. John was till a doctor. Mary was still pregnant. Mrs. Hudson was still Sherlock's landlady, and not his housekeeper. Mycroft was still Mycroft.

But _she_ was gone.

Molly Hooper was gone.

Sherlock pretended it didn't affect him, continuing on as usual, complaining about boring cases, deducting everything and everyone, but it did.

He missed her. Not the free body parts, not the interesting bodies in the morgue.

He missed her.

The days went by, and Sherlock stopped accepting cases, spending more and more time in his mind palace, and everyone was worried.

It wasn't until he spoke that they finally knew what was wrong.

"I can't find her," He said in a ridiculously childlike voice. It wasn't on purpose, he wasn't mocking. It was just how he felt.

"Who?" Mary asked, because even though she had her suspicions, she could never be sure with Sherlock.

His face scrunched up in concentration for a moment before he spoke, "Molly."

John and Mary shared a look, concern filling them.

John had no idea how Sherlock's mind palace worked, but he had thought it contained knowledge only until that point.

In Sherlock's mind palace, the morgue was empty. Molly wasn't there as she used to be. All that remained was a piece of paper with a single word on it.

 _Goodbye._

His Molly was gone. And when he concentrated hard enough, he could hear her angry voice, telling him to apologise.

And he did. The apologies tumbled from his mouth, but it didn't bring her back.

It was three days after Sherlock admitted that he couldn't find Molly in his mind palace, he went by her apartment, thinking she was still there.

Her things were still there, but she wasn't. There was a letter, addressed to him, and Sherlock opened it curiously.

 _Sherlock,_

 _I knew you'd come here, searching for answers. You always have to know everything. Always._

 _This time, I'm giving you the answer, you don't have to figure it out._

 _I left because of you. I needed to move on, and I was given the perfect opportunity. A promotion in Edinburgh. I didn't tell you or anyone else because I knew someone would stop me._

 _Only Mike knew._

 _Basically, I wish that you loved me. I wish that you needed me and I need to stop wishing. I need to move on, and to do that, I need to go away. To be away from you; permanently. Mycroft is sending my things up to me once I'm settled, and you'll never see me again._

 _I'm sorry._

 _Molly._

It took a year for Sherlock to accept the fact that Molly was never coming home, and he finally closed the morgue in his mind palace. He didn't delete it; never, but it was off limits.

He started taking cases again, and became his old self, insulting the new pathologist at Bart's.

It wasn't the same, and he only used the place for cases when he needed to examine the body.

No more experiments on body parts. No more thumbs or toes in the fridge. No more.

He always found something to occupy him, but he succumbed to smoking more often than not. John hated it.

It was when he saw her while on a case that it became truly apparent that he missed her. He had been sent to Edinburgh with John, and while posing a brothers, they found her.

She was wearing the clothes she had worn on the day she had assisted him when he returned from the dead, and he was overcome by a strange sense of guilt.

In his mind palace, the morgue doors began to rattle, and they burst open, Molly stood angrily, scowling at him.

He thought of the letter she had left him, and he realised everything.

 _Basically, I wish that you loved me. I wish that you needed me and I need to stop wishing._

All she ever wanted was for him to love her. He didn't have to say it out loud. He just had to show her.

He realised his mistake.

He loved her, and cared about her. He always did. He would just never admit it out loud.

Every time mummy would go on a rant about having grandchildren, he thought of Molly, but he never said it.

He was a cold heartless bastard, and he knew it.

"Come on, Sherlock. We need to…" John stopped as Sherlock walked towards Molly, and John giggled. Mycroft's plan had worked.

Molly felt a hand on her arm, and she spun around, about to raise her fist when she saw his blue eyes, his curly hair, and suddenly aged face.

"I'm sorry," He murmured, then his lips her on hers, and she entered heaven.

The man she loved, the man she always loved, was finally kissing her.

Mycroft was right. It took a year, but he finally got the message.

"Come home?" Sherlock asked, breaking the kiss. She didn't respond, but she kissed him again.


End file.
